


There's Fur Everywhere

by LadyLondonderry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1D Five Times Fic Fest, 5 Times, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Crack, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Smut, Werewolves, Winter, essentially
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28803639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/pseuds/LadyLondonderry
Summary: Five times Harry finds someone sleeping in his car.One time he makes them sleep in his house.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 24
Kudos: 123
Collections: 5 Times 1D Fic Fest





	There's Fur Everywhere

Harry Styles never locks his car. 

First of all, it’s a shitty car. 

No, scratch that. It’s a great car. But it  _ looks _ like a shitty car.

It’s a 2001 Toyota Camry named Steve that belonged to a long string of people before it reached him. It’s got dents and rust spots and scratches all along the outside, and he has to kick the side of the front bumper every once in a while to reattach it. It’s missing the passenger side door handle because he pulled too hard one day when the door was frozen shut and the handle just came off. Each of the side view mirrors have been replaced… multiple times. 

But Steve still drives like a dream. It’s a great car that just looks like absolute shit.

He leaves it unlocked because, from experience, if he leaves it locked then people will break into it. Even when he keeps the inside immaculately tidy, gives them  _ no reason _ to break in, he’ll come outside and find that a window’s been smashed, or a crooked clothes hanger is snaked into the door, or one time they bent the door itself while breaking in and he couldn’t close the driver’s side door for a week. 

Things Harry has had stolen from his car include;

  * A Britney Spears CD
  * Enough change for half a cup of coffee
  * A banana
  * Three library books (R.I.P. his perfect record)



But if Harry leaves his car unlocked, for the most part people do not damage his property. It’s just good sense. 

— 

It’s a warm September morning with a clear sky when Harry leaves his house. He has an interview for a new job and he has left himself just enough time to stop for a coffee to chug on his way. 

(Then he will swallow approximately thirteen mints to make sure no one interviewing him can tell).

He jogs down the front steps of his flat to his car, hitting the button to unlock it as he goes (it’s always unlocked, mind you, but if he hits it twice it beeps so he knows where it is). On a comfortable morning like this he doesn’t even have to worry about waiting for Steve to warm up first (he can be finicky in the winter months).

Harry is  _ just _ about to open his car door when movement in the back seat catches his eye. He freezes. Is there an animal in his car? Has a raccoon broken in?

His eyes grow wide when he realises that no — that’s not a raccoon in his car. It is a man. 

A  _ man. _

Said man seems to have just woken up. He stirs, then sits bolt upright. He’s shirtless, although it seems like he had a shirt at one point and had been using it as a blanket. 

He’s got nice hair, the man does. 

But that’s not important. Because he was sleeping in Harry’s car.

“Um,” Harry says. He still has one hand on the door handle.

The man locks eyes with him. Time seems to freeze.

Then he bolts out the passenger-side back door, into the road, and takes off running. 

Harry frowns. He didn’t even have the decency to close the door after him!

He walks around to the other side of the car to close the door, and spots the shirt that had slid off of the man when he took off. It’s a black tee shirt with a large H emblazoned on it.

Huh. It’s sort of ugly. 

Harry tosses it into his car — spoils of war — and shuts the door. He doesn’t want to be late for that interview.

— 

It’s a foggy October morning and Harry is late for his last day at his old job. 

Sure, he was never really a fan of this job. The pay wasn’t good and his coworkers were not particularly fun people to be around.

(Also being part of a clown troupe that performs at children’s birthday parties means you end up making a lot of children cry, which no one tells you at the beginning). 

But still, he doesn’t want to be late and leave everyone with a bad impression. 

He’s rushing around the house finding his keys and his bag of clown props that he needs to return (not that anyone else will be able to adequately fill his size twenty five clown shoes). He hasn’t even gotten to have  _ breakfast _ yet, just has time to grab a box of cereal that he hopes to eat dry in the car.

When he rushes out of his flat, he’s thankful that he’d managed to snag the parking spot right in front of his door the night before so he doesn’t have to go walking to get to his car. 

Then he stops.

There’s someone in his car.

_ Again. _

Harry clicks the unlock button twice and his car beeps. The person in the back stirs. He beeps it again. They sit up. 

Ah. It’s the same guy. 

Okay the guy is definitely, like, good looking. But Harry’s not  _ too  _ thrilled about someone choosing to sleep in his car more than once. It’s going to become a habit and it’s going to be awkward.

Anyway, the man once again seems to realise what’s happening fairly quickly, doesn’t even make eye contact with Harry this time before he dashes out of the car and down the road. 

He’s not wearing shoes, Harry notes as he walks up to his car. He glances in the back seat but there are no shoes to claim as a prize. Just another shirt — what looks like a plaid button-up.

Whatever. He has to go be a clown one last time. Hopefully this child’s parents checked first that they don’t have coulrophobia. 

— 

It’s November. 

Guy Fawkes Night isn’t looking promising as Harry looks out the window and sees rain drizzling down. The bonfire might be disappointing this year, even if it does dry up soon, and maybe he should honestly just skip out and read a nice book by the fire instead. 

But no. He can’t do that. Harry is in charge of bringing caramel apples (per his mum’s request) which means he has to actually go and  _ buy _ caramel apples, which means he has to get out of bed and actually do something productive.

Harry groans. He doesn’t  _ want _ to get out of bed. 

He turns onto his side and peeks out the curtain. The rain continues. At least his car will be nice and clean, he thinks, not that it ever really  _ looks _ nice. The rust has started to really spread recently, making Steve look downright diseased.

Glancing down onto the street, he finds his car between a Honda and an Audi. And… oh. Yes. There’s someone in his back seat. 

Harry reaches onto the floor and fishes his keys out of the pile of things he dropped the night before. He holds the key fob up against the window and hits the lock button a bunch of times, watching Steve’s headlights flash in the rain and knowing that it’s beeping even if he can’t hear it.

Then he stops and feels bad. It’s raining outside and the guy is probably homeless (three times means homeless instead of drunk, right?). It’s not like he has to leave  _ right now. _

He does, though. Harry watches him sit upright, looking dazed for a minute before scrambling to put on his shirt (what’s with him sleeping without his shirt?) and jumping out of the backseat.

From up here, a position of comfort still lying in his bed, Harry can… appreciate the man’s form. He looks fit, honestly, and he’s chosen a white tee shirt which is an unfortunate choice for him, and a fortunate choice for Harry.

Hey, if he’s going to keep using Harry’s car, the least Harry can get in return is a little ogle now and again.

— 

It’s December and it’s not  _ snowing _ but it’s not  _ not _ snowing.

Well, there’s snow in the  _ air, _ it’s just apparently so light that it doesn’t seem to be touching the ground so much as it’s sort of blowing from side to side. Harry doesn’t appreciate it much.

Still, he has three days left of work before he’s off for Christmas, so it’s not all bad. He’s bundled up to the nines — because he  _ hates _ the cold, he really does — and is dreading having to go out and start his car. Steve takes  _ forever _ to warm up, and Harry just  _ knows _ there’s an invisible layer of ice over everything that he’s going to have to chip off. Gross. It’s all gross and dreary.

He makes his way carefully down the steps (black ice is a danger not talked about in enough PSAs) and hits the button on his key fob because he’s honestly not even sure where he parked Steve last night.

The car beeps halfway down the block and Harry sighs as he carefully trudges toward it. Winter is gross. 

He beeps the car again for the heck of it as he gets close, and then sees the back door slowly swing open. Ah. The guest is back. 

The man emerges from the car with his arms wrapped around himself, and Harry can see why considering he  _ doesn’t even have a shirt on. _ Okay, other times he would be respectfully glancing. This time he just feels bad. It’s  _ freezing. _

“Hey!” Harry calls, still a few cars down. “Hey, do you need a shirt?”

The man’s head whips around to face him, looking startled. “Uh,” he says, his voice high and reedy. “No thank you! I’m sorry!”

He turns to go but Harry’s not going to just let some poor homeless man  _ freeze. _ “Hey, come on,” he says. “I keep my gym bag in the boot, you can take my workout shirt.”

But the man is already backing away. Harry’s afraid he’s going to get frostbite! “I’m fine,” he shouts. “I don’t live too far from here! I- I’m sorry!”

And then he takes off, slipping a little (black ice!) before gaining his footing and going around the far corner. 

Well. If he loses a finger it won’t be on  _ Harry. _

But… he lives around here? Does he have a shirt wherever he’s camped out? Harry worries. He hopes the man can go home for Christmas.

— 

It’s the end of January. It’s been  _ so _ cold for weeks now, but there has been no snow or inclement weather of any kind, just  _ cold. _

Harry is miserable. It’s that post-holidays malaise that strikes and makes everything feel as grey as the sky. He wants to snap at everyone. He had to call his sister and apologise just yesterday because he told her that he had thrown away her Christmas present.

(And well, he  _ had, _ but he wasn’t supposed to  _ tell _ her! It was a really hideous monkey planter and there was simply no need to keep its leering eyes in his flat). 

Plus, his wonderful new office job (well, fairly new. A few months old now) is in a room in the  _ middle _ of the building so there are  _ no windows _ and he’s getting very tired of almost never seeing the sun. At least when he was a clown a lot of the birthday parties were outside. 

Still, he drags himself into the kitchen for breakfast (leftover pizza because at least  _ that _ has never failed him) and dons his most comfortable shoes, slings his bag over his shoulder and departs. Just eight hours and he can be at home watching people on the television watch television.

Outside, he plods down the steps and around the corner to where he knows he parked his car, and — ah. 

There’s the man again.

Harry is  _ tired _ and  _ cranky _ and the  _ man _ is in his car again and he should be  _ kind _ to the homeless but he’s just about had it. Instead of hitting the unlock button until it beeps, he snatches the key fob out of his pocket and hits the panic button. 

Something very weird happens that Harry absolutely will not be able to explain to anyone he’s telling this story to later. For a second it’s like there isn’t a man in his back seat at all — instead there’s a large black fog. Like when a pufferfish puffs up, or when a squid gets ink everywhere. 

He blinks, though, and it  _ must _ be a trick of the light, or maybe the man was throwing on clothes, because a second later he’s stumbling and bolting out of the car and down the middle of the road like he’s been shot at.

Harry turns off his alarm. Maybe he should just start locking his car again.

When he actually gets into his car, he looks into the back seat and realises that it seems to be absolutely  _ covered _ in dark fur.

What the fuck. 

— 

It’s February. 

Harry has, many times over the last month, thought with regret about the last time he saw the homeless man. There was no need for him to turn on his alarm. That was uncalled for, and could’ve given him a heart attack or something. 

It’s late at night, and he’s just gotten home from a house party thrown by one of his coworkers; Niall, who is married to Zayn. Both of them like to host themed parties for no reason at all — this month the theme was  _ Full Moon _ because it’s a full moon tonight. The party was spoiled a bit because it’s been raining rather heavily since the sun set, but the snacks were all little cheeses and they watched  _ Wallace and Gromit A Grand Day Out _ so overall it was still a win.

The problem is that pretty much all of the parking had been taken by the time Harry got home (about twenty minutes ago), forcing him to park at the very end of the road,  _ very _ far from his flat, and the rain has only gotten heavier. 

He doesn’t  _ want _ to get wet, and also has a bag of cheese that Niall shoved in his hands before he left, so he’s spent the last twenty minutes sitting in the driver’s seat of his parked car eating cheese curds and watching Tiktoks on his phone. He’ll go inside when the rain stops or when his phone battery dies, whichever comes first. 

A streak of lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating the world around him for a minute, and Harry glances up just in time to see someone barrelling down the middle of the road in his direction. They’re thrown into darkness again, though, and Harry strains to find them again as the thunder rolls.

It turns out he doesn’t have to try  _ too _ hard to see them, though, because it’s only moments later that whoever it is is  _ pulling open the back door of Harry’s car and jumping inside. _

_ “Oh my god,” _ Harry shouts, dropping his cheese curds everywhere in shock. “Are you going to rob me?”

Is being robbed better or worse than getting soaking wet? He needs a new phone anyway.

The man in the back seat seems a little preoccupied, honestly, breathing deep, heavy breaths as he lays curled on his side, soaking the entirety of Harry’s back seat.

Actually.

Harry squints. This man is familiar. 

“Hey,” he says. “You’re that homeless man.”

The man in the back seat groans and clutches his arms around his middle. He’s wearing a shirt this time, a grey Umbro one. His eyes are screwed shut.

“Do you need me to call someone?” Harry asks, feeling concerned. “Do you need to go to A&E?”

The man groans again.  _ “No,” _ he says, which at least means he knows that Harry is there (which he was beginning to doubt). “No, I don’t— I’m fine.” He breathes out through his teeth. “I’m— sorry, I just need to—”

He makes a sound like he’s going to heave, and then for a moment his whole body expands, almost like blowing up a balloon, and he’s big and dark and then he’s  _ not _ again. 

Harry switches on the car’s overhead light. 

“Okay,” Harry says. “Do you… need me to leave? I mean, it’s my car. But you seem to be going through something.”

The man is face-down on the seat, his legs up in the foetal position, but he shakes his head. “Sorry,” he groans. “It’s— I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to be an inconvenience?” Harry guesses. “Or you don’t want to be alone?”

“Don’t want to—” the man pants, “To change.” He groans again, and then he’s large and black again, but with the overhead light on, Harry gets a very clear view of  _ fur _ before he’s returned to normal.

“Huh,” says Harry. 

Huh.

_ Huh. _

He thinks about the cheese curds that are now scattered around the floor of his car. Niall labeled them  _ moon cheese _ on the little bag. It was a full moon party. Presumably, above all that rain, there is a full moon. 

Harry has never had to confront whether he believes in the supernatural. He’s never really considered it. It’s just not come up.

“Well,” Harry says. “If you change are you going to hurt someone?”

The man shakes his head, sweat shining on his face from the effort of holding back.

“Are you going to scare someone?”

“Yeah—” gasps the man. “Roommates.”

“Right, hate those,” Harry says. He pays way too much to have a flat to himself. “So you… leave.”

The man scrunches up his nose. 

“I feel like whatever you’re doing right now can  _ not _ be healthy,” Harry says.

The man groans. He’s big and black and furry for a moment and then normal again. He starts to shimmy out of his shirt. 

“Like, if you’re going to probably spend all night trying not to change, you might as well just change, right?” Harry muses. “Like, you said you wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“Big black dog— running around the neighbourhood—?” the man pants. “BIG— big dog.”

“Okay, so we’re scared of animal control,” Harry says. “Well that’s easy.” He starts looking around for wherever his phone dropped. “Come inside with me.”

The man is shaking his head again, but the rain’s starting to lighten up and Harry doesn’t want to miss his shot.

“I’m going to set off the car alarm if you don’t follow me,” he says. “Because God and the Moon work but I work harder. Come on.”

He opens his door and then steps back and opens the back door. The man stumbles out, still doubled over and clutching his stomach. But he follows Harry up the pavement as Harry hurries to get out of the rain. 

Harry unlocks his front door and wonders if all of his clothes are in his hamper, and also wonders if he has anything that could be both dog and human food. “Come on in,” he says. “Nothing really breakable in here, if that’s helpful information. I mean, the television is, but it’s bolted to the wall so you’re probably safe.”

The man steps inside but he stands awkwardly on the mat. Harry closes the door around him and then looks directly at him. “What’s your name?” he asks. “Since you’re going to be a houseguest for the night.

The man grimaces. “Louis,” he says. “I’m—  _ so _ sorry about—”

“And to be clear, you have a home?” Harry asks. 

“Yeah. Around the corner.”

“Cool,” Harry says. He’s winging it, but forming a sort of ridiculous plan. “I’m Harry. I’m going to go upstairs and go to sleep, because I have to work in the morning. Feel free to change into whatever else it is you are, and if you’re too embarassed you can sneak out before I’m up. But also I’m pretty sure I have leftover burgers in the refrigerator that you can eat, and if you’re still here in the morning we can talk like real people.”

“Uh,” says the man. “Aren’t you worried— about me stealing or something?”

Harry shrugs. “Don’t do that please,” he says. “Oh, and I have spare toothbrushes under the sink.”

He waves and heads upstairs, because he figures Louis probably needs some cool-down time. Also he’s making it up as he goes along but thinks that if  _ he _ were a sometimes-dog, he wouldn’t want to transform in front of strangers anyway. Sure he’ll have fur, but he’s still naked. That’s awkward.

— 

The morning comes very fast. 

Harry doesn’t sleep as much as he pretends to. He never hears noises of destruction coming from the rest of the flat, but he’s still a little afraid he’s going to come out and find everything’s been destroyed. Perhaps the man really was just on drugs and what Harry was seeing was a contact-high.

He waits in bed until his alarm goes off and then tiptoes down the hallway to the living room. All the lights are off, everything looks very normal. 

At least, everything looks very normal until he sees that there is a huge black furry animal sprawled out under his coffee table.

The animal is taking deep slow sleep breaths. His tongue is lolling out of his mouth. He’s  _ adorable _ and mysterious looking all at the same time. 

Harry is about to sneak away and make coffee (and maybe call off work?) when he accidentally stubs his toe on his own discarded boots.

_ “Shit.”  _ he curses.

The large furry being awakes. 

It stretches its long paws.

Suddenly it’s not a large furry being at all. It’s a small man who’s laying on the carpet under a table.

“Oh,” says Louis. “Uh, good morning.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Good morning.”

Louis sits up. He’s wearing pants and nothing else. “I’m so sorry,” he says.

“This is awesome,” Harry says.

“What?”

Harry gestures to all of Louis. “You are  _ awesome.” _

What? He’s not going to  _ lie. _

“Oh,” says Louis, his cheeks getting pink. “Uh. Thank you?”

“I’m making coffee,” Harry announces.

He steps into the kitchen and rushes through the steps of making coffee, returning as it starts to drip. “So,” he says as Louis is donning his discarded clothes. “Why my car?”

“It was unlocked,” Louis says, a shirt over his head. “Like, always. Are the locks broken?”

“No, just tired of people breaking the car to break in,” Harry says. “So. How long have you been… doing this?”

Louis grimaces. “Six months?” he says, sounding like he’s calculating. “Got bit by a kid in my daycare class.”

“Ouch,” says Harry. He tries very hard not to laugh. 

Louis sighs. “It’s been pretty inconvenient.”

“Well, if you need some place to crash,” Harry gestures around him. “I’m making coffee. You get coffee here.”

Louis eyes him warily. “You’re very calm about this,” he says. 

Harry shrugs. “I thought a homeless man was living in my car for the last five months. Somehow this seems better. And,” Alright he might as well. “You’re cute, and I don’t have to feel bad for thinking that because you’re not just some homeless guy crashing in my car.”

Louis snorts. “Oh my god,” he says. “How did I find you?”

“Always trust the guy who doesn’t lock his car,” Harry says. “Listen. Let’s exchange numbers. Crash here any full moon.”

“I will think over whether I trust that offer and get back to you,” Louis says, but he’s already fishing out his phone.

— 

It’s three more full moons before Harry asks Louis out, but only because he wants him to feel  _ comfortable _ first. 

By the third full moon Louis is already stripping off his trousers when he comes in the door, so Harry figures they’re at a good level friendship-wise.

It’s two full moons after that before they’re officially going out.

And seven full moons before they’re engaged.

And then for some reason, another five before they realise that Niall and Zayn are also werewolves. Suddenly Harry is in the minority in their friend group. 

He’s okay with that, though. His fiancee is an extra good cuddler one night a month and he’s the only one with opposable thumbs to operate the television so he gets to pick what they watch during said cuddle session.


End file.
